


The Rhythm of Rlain

by itslikepoetry



Category: Stormlight Archive - Brandon Sanderson
Genre: Brotherly Bonding, M/M, Rlain doesn’t actually make an appearance in this I’m so sorry y’all, also possibly after row?, ily Rlain you will appear in my next Rlainarin fic!!!, not sure what time in the series this takes place but its sometime after ob, the inherent romanticism of two misfits in bridge four
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:41:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28181826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itslikepoetry/pseuds/itslikepoetry
Summary: Renarin asks his brother for dating advice. As it turns out, he may not need it.
Relationships: Adolin Kholin & Renarin Kholin, Renarin Kholin/Rlain
Comments: 16
Kudos: 30





	The Rhythm of Rlain

“Adolin,” Renarin said, not looking up from the papers on his desk. Suddenly the careful loops and lines of handwriting upon practiced pages seemed very, very interesting. “You...know how to court women.”

At this, Adolin perked up. It was indeed a topic he was very knowledgeable about. “I like to think so, yes.”

“Do—Would it work for men, too?” Renarin stared so hard at the ink-sodden papers that his vision began to blur. The Stormlight had healed him of his visual impairment, eliminating the need for glasses, but he was beginning to wish he had them again, if only to have something to remove and obsessively clean. 

If Adolin was surprised by the question, it didn’t show in his voice. Instead, it was Renarin who was surprised when his brother said, “Sure, I’ve courted men.”

“What?” Renarin looked up now, almost sharply. “When? You never told me that.”

“I appreciate your shock that I have not detailed every last one of my romantic escapades,” Adolin said humbly. “But I don’t think that _my_ romantic entanglements were meant to be the central focus of this particular conversation.”

“No,” Renarin said. He finally took out his puzzle box, fidgeting with it between his fingers as he looked back down again. A lapse in conversation followed, but with Adolin it was never awkward. “Me too. I mean, I like men too. Only men, though. Not women. That’s why I was asking—if you knew how to court men, specifically.”

“I see.” There was a specific lilt to Adolin’s voice, tugging at the edges of the words and lifting the end of the phrase. It was the sort of tone that only older siblings could achieve, yet Renarin had never managed to define it. “And is there a particular man you were looking to court?” 

Renarin’s fingers fiddled even more swiftly with the box as heat rose up his neck and into his cheeks. “Perhaps.”

Adolin practically crowed in delight. Renarin had always liked that about his brother—he was unafraid to show his joy, in a way that was so distinct that Renarin could identify it in mere seconds, even from across the room. 

“Well,” Adolin said, sidling closer. “Who’s the lucky gentleman? Do I know him? What’s his name?”

Renarin looked up just long enough to fix his brother with his best attempt at a stern gaze.

“What?” Adolin asked, properly affronted. “You brought it up! I’m simply following the natural course of the conversation.” 

“Conversations don’t have natural courses,” Renarin muttered bitterly, glancing down again and meddling with one of the pieces of the box that had gotten stuck.

It finally came loose and began to move again when Adolin said, “Besides, if I _did_ know who it was, I could help you to court him better. Specialized treatment.”

Renarin stared very carefully down at his hands, pondering this point. His brother was wise that way, the subtlety of it creeping deviously into whichever conversations he found most interesting at any given time. Surely, Adolin was right. If he knew that it was—well, if he knew _who_ it was, perhaps he’d be able to decipher some sort of a...date? Heat blossomed in Renarin’s face once more at the very thought of the word. A date. That would be nice. Surely Adolin was good at dates. He’d been on so many of them.

“Fine,” Renarin said, glancing up. His brother’s eyebrows raised, clearly not expecting this particular answer. “But you can’t tell.”

“Oh, I never do,” Adolin agreed, leaning forward conspiratorially.

“Itrlain,” said Renarin very quietly. Adolin leaned forward even further, until Renarin feared the desk might topple forward with him. Louder, he repeated: “It’s _Rlain_.”

“Rlain,” Adolin said thoughtfully, and then his expression cleared again as he remembered. “Rlain! The Singer?”

Adolin didn’t mean anything by it—there was no accusation in his voice that Renarin could tell, but he bristled slightly all the same. Renarin found himself wishing that humans, too, could speak in rhythms. He often found them easier to decipher than actual words, the cadences and the emotions that were aligned with them were more straight forward, easier to solve. 

“He’s more than just a Singer,” Renarin said quietly. “He’s a lot of things. He’s a Radiant now. He’s Bridge Four.”

“I’m sorry,” said Adolin. If he was of the Parshendi, he may have hummed to the rhythm of regret. “I didn’t mean anything by that. He’s obviously much more. He seems good. Kind.”

“He is,” Renarin agreed. It was funny, how those weren’t really the first words to pop into Renarin’s mind, despite the fact that they did indeed ring with truth. Really, when Renarin thought of Rlain and his… feelings toward the man, he did not do so in clearly defined words. Instead, it was a sort of rhythm. Steady, solid, unique, understanding, true. The rhythm of Rlain. 

“And?” Adolin had an fond sort of half-grin plastered across his face. It was odd, but not unwelcome. 

“And,” Renarin repeated plainly, uncertain as to what his older brother was fishing for from the conversation.

“And what else do you like about him?”

There were so many things—too many, again, to put into words, and Renarin had a feeling that he would discover new things every day. 

“He’s strong,” Renarin finally settled on. He didn’t mean physically—though, storms, he was that too. “He has been through more than many could imagine. And yet he is as you say. Kind. Good, not because of but in spite of.”

Renarin hesitated for a moment, feeling himself flush deeper. Feeling his lips curl into a small smile, almost against his own will. “He… understands. Understands me, I think. So many others—they don’t see me. Not truly. They see Dalinar’s son, or Gavilar’s nephew, or your brother. They see a weakling, a boy with a blood sickness, a prince who cannot fight. But Rlain… he sees me. Not my family, not my name, not my faults. He sees me.” Not in words, perhaps, but in a rhythm. “Other people—they see Rlain like that too. They look at him and see a Singer. Storms, they named him Shen because that’s all that they could see. But I see him, Adolin. I see him. I understand, and it’s…” It was not a thing of words. Seeing usually wasn’t. “It’s beautiful. He’s beautiful.” 

Renarin looked up now, self-conscious of his rambling. “Is that silly?”

“Come here,” Adolin whispered, voice hoarse. “Come here, Ren.” His arms were open wide, and Renarin fell into them. He didn’t often like touch, but this one was not unwelcome.

“I think I love him. Or, I think that I could love him,” Renarin whispered. His face was pressed awkwardly against his brother’s chest, the angle of their embrace a bit cumbersome, but comfortable all the same. “I hope I could. And I hope he could reciprocate.”

“I’m glad,” Adolin said quietly in response. His words were somewhat muffled against Renarin’s mostly-black hair. “Truly.” 

“You’re squeezing me, Adolin.”

“Sorry,” his brother said, but this time he didn’t sound particularly sorry. He released Renarin anyway, and Renarin went back to fiddling with his cube, feeling suddenly awkward. 

“Well,” Renarin said. “What do you think I should do? Mostly Rlain and I—we just talk. Or we just sort of sit in silence when neither of us feel like talking. It’s nice, though. Nice enough. But I don’t know if that’s a date, or—“

Adolin grinned and stood from where he had seated himself on the desk. “You know, Renarin,” he said, with the confidence of a man who certainly knew his way around courting, “I think that will be the perfect date.”

And, as it turned out, it was.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy new year, all! I hope you are staying healthy and safe. Thank you for reading this fic, and I’m sorry that Rlain wasn’t actually in it—next time, I promise! 
> 
> (Also, here’s a secret: I haven’t actually read the Stormlight Archive yet, but I know a bunch of spoilers and I’m already obsessed. All of my knowledge is based off of my readings of the Wikipedia pages as well as some tweets that have crossed my timeline, so please forgive anything that I got wrong. Once I actually start reading the Way of Kings this year, it will be all over for you all, lol!)


End file.
